The Nostalgic State of Desire (For You)

12

There is the solemn wrath that glows with the passionate intercourse
of resplendence and grace. Punishing the formation of humanity
with terror and glee. As is with religion, the epiphany is tied with
something beyond the realm of people.
People desire the harmonious and in whichever form we want it
The attribution isn’t merely in words but the realization of the pursuits of life.
That I err on the metaphor of depth – sinking, thinking, feeling, lost as …
The perennial admiration of your beauty grips me from the spine
Flustering my thoughts, my feelings, my virtues until I delicately walk
With the gripping familiarity of clustering words
In a tedious imitation of nature and yet desire bursts open
Like a wallflower edge and cuts through me like a moonlight’s sword
Wondering how I have substituted love for desire
For the night is filled with warriors but the bravest are the ones who
Take time to feel the ash that the moon drops from its battle with the sun

I have desired your lips alone until such a time when
Each part of my body mutinies the dissonance of the sea
As sometimes I want to rest on the shore of your hands
Yet I burn calories fantasizing about the explosion of your breeze
from the horizon. Feeling empty until such a time a vessel honks
Echoing dying words that have quietly sizzled out my heart
From the copious restraint of coffee that you have mixed with water
Submitting that I should harvest if I am to show the world how I am emaciated
Without the punctuation that accentuates the jewel that’s your eyes

Nature has outdone me with countless comparisons of beauty
And even in the mightiest, soulful, strangest, and unbeknownst
of all collections of literature, all summations of science and philosophy
I am carried away in the body of desire that I understand
You are never mine to write
For how can I speak of the collisions inside me?
When everything I have ever desired is like blood
Jumping ship; from my head to my heart – ever over flooding
Because I can only interpret words, hoping you’ll know
That I shimmer upon your back, octane with public artistry
I transfix myself sub-consciously on your lips
Craving the orchid’s blossom with the intensity
Of each incalculable moment that I can be with you
That I am persuaded to feel the tingling sensation of thinking about you
Is beyond any raw symphony that waltzes beyond the imaginary
To my inmost system until the pleasure of rhythm inflicts in me
The inhibition of having to leave a single tree in a train station
To have the merry of knowing countless maples as if it’s an addiction
As a traveler basking in the splendor of your hesitation

If I had the safest way to write your name
I’d peel parts my skin and use it not only for the world to see
But for the poetry of having you read it from my body
It is tragic enough for me to desire you so strongly
That I almost break overwhelmed by how many times I stop myself
From positioning myself as a shipwreck unto the shore
And I hope you never have to desire anything as much as I desire my survival
As shipwrecked voyager thrusting opening the scriptures to have
Salvation linger closer so that my pen can shut up about you

How can I desire you less?
When our whole existence is artistic because we are nature’s poems
How can I unleash my love, unadorned and unexpressed
When my desire already reeks out of translation
How can I be your poet?
When all your favourite poets are a bookshelf away
And I am a struggling enthrallment of a desolate poet
How can I be your porcelain?
When you break them to make necklaces out of fragility
Hanging them as decorations of bastards that have failed before me
Some with narratives better than me, with words eloquent than mine
How can I describe your lips?
When I crave to kiss you, unbridled with the impetus
Of a heightened allure of collapsing all over you with a pristine embrace
How can I stop myself soaking in your grandeur?
When all I want is to kiss you and despair afterwards about your absence
When the fabric of nature will end its lending sparkle of bubbling solace
And leave me with the eagerness, sensuality, swirl, sparkle, tension …
of writing on your skin

(C) Eddy Ongili 2015

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